The Grimwood Girls
by K.Kelvin
Summary: While chasing an elusive murderer called the Grim Creeper, John and Sherlock end up rooming with the odd and eerie residents of Grimwood School as they try to find a clue to catching their killer in the notes of the young headmistress's father.
1. Chapter 1

**Scooby Doo and the Ghoul School was on TV today and it's probably my favourite Scooby Doo movie (maybe tied with Zombie Island). This is not a cross-over in any way and it's not an AU or in any way a universe where monsters exist. I just used the Ghoul School characters as inspiration (and a basic outline/description) for some of the Grimwood characters. In case any names or ideas sound familiar, that's why. **

**Sherlock is not mine and neither is anything from Scooby Doo.**

**I hope you enjoy it.**

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Detective Inspector Lestrade tapped his foot impatiently as he waited outside the latest crime scene. His impatience was not only the result of a late consulting detective and his army doctor partner but also at the lack of leads pointing them in the right direction towards a serial killer that media had begun to compare to Jack the Ripper. Eventually tabloids had given him his own name. Lestrade reached into his pocket and pulled out a black cellphone, shooting off a quick text.

_Tell Sherlock to hurry up. If he needs motivation, tell him it's the Grim Creeper. - Lestrade_

It had been 3 years and the Grim Creeper was still at large, prowling the United Kingdom for his next suitable "play thing". In his three years of hunting he had killed 21 people; 21 people turned into grotesque statues.

The Grim Creeper stalked his victims profusely before he finally acted. When friends and family of the dead were interviewed a common comment was that the victim had complained of feeling watched. When he finally acted, he would inject them with an unknown compound that would paralyze their muscles and then once they had died, poisoned by this same compound, he would position them and string them up. They were always left in natural positions, almost as if they had died suddenly during their everyday activities and frozen instantly. No matter where you stood in the room the always open eyes of the deceased appeared to follow you, watching every movement. And despite the fact that investigators were able to find noticeable injection marks, the toxicology reports from the victims always came back with the same results; nothing.

The sound of footsteps drew Lestrade's attention. The younger Holmes brother and his companion striding towards him was one of the most welcome sights he had ever seen. Without a word they crossed under the police tape and followed Lestrade into the small semi-detached home.

He led them up the stairs. They creaked underfoot, the same as the old floorboards on the upper level. The bedroom was painted yellow but it had faded from the sunlight that streamed through the one big window. Various cords and ropes of different sizes and material were scattered around the room, pinned to all four walls. Most of the trailing rope had been pushed away from the center of the room so it was coiled in the corners of against the baseboard.

It should have been bright but there was something damp and moldy about the room, the knowledge of the murder was enough to make someone's skin crawl.

But what spooked John most about the scene was the hooded figure that had been carved right into the wall of the bedroom. It curved up the wall onto the ceiling, looming over the dead woman. It was no half effort scratching though. It was perfectly done, it was meticulous.

Having crossed the room in two steps, Sherlock crouched down next to the victim. Detectives from Scotland Yard had already severed the cords suspending the woman, who looked to be in her 30's, from the ceiling. She was now lying with her back on the hardwood floor. He ran a hand over her face, pressing down on certain areas to test the rigidity in her facial muscles. Her hazel eyes were still open.

Lestrade didn't venture very into the room, he stopped a few feet from the door. He turned to John who, at this point, had torn his attention away from the wall carving and was now trying to comprehend the rest of the crime scene. When he noticed the overwhelmed look on the army doctor's face he started to fill him in on the details, mostly about the paralytic compound. When he finished he added, "It's an intense drug, strong than anything we know of. It's not a compound we've ever seen before."

Sherlock spoke up from where he was still examining the victim but didn't look up, "He created it himself. Extensive scientific background most likely."

Lestrade crossed his arms over his chest, "Any ideas?"

"Nine."

"So you're going to take this case again." Lestrade's voice was hopeful.

Sherlock braced his hands on his knees and stood up. He took one last look around the hideous bedroom, his voice was dark, "It would seem so."

XX

The door to 221B slammed shut.

Sherlock Holmes rushed up the stairs, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's greeting call. John hesitated but raced up the stairs behind Sherlock. The door had been left open and he stepped through, peering into the flat but Sherlock was not in immediate sight. He had recognized the the look on Sherlock's face. This was going to be a particularly irritating case.

John called into the fall, "You have no substantial leads, do you?"

No answer.

"So where do we go from here?" John called again.

He got no answer from his flatmate. He sighed with exasperation and shut the door before wandering around into their kitchen. The only light in the small room came from a piece of lit-up apparatus. Sherlock had settled himself at the table and he was now staring into the eyepiece of the microscope. He adjusted the knobs on it and gave John no acknowledgement that he had even heard the question. He stood up suddenly.

"We're going to see an old colleague of mine." He walked out of the kitchen, brushing past John, "Pack your bags."

John frowned, not only was he confused but he was getting tired of the detective's spontaneous and often outrageous plans, "Where exactly are we going, Sherlock?"

Sherlock stopped mid-step. He turned to face the doctor, his expression bordering on ominous.

"Grimwood."


	2. Chapter 2

John carefully navigated his way down the narrow, dirt road. Sherlock watched him out of the corner of his eye. He knew that the army doctor was not thoroughly pleased with where they were, mostly because he had no idea where they were. Sherlock had told him where to go but this road wasn't on any map. John had checked.

It was late, the moon had long since risen in the sky, lighting up the road ahead of them. For miles the only thing visible from the road was trees so dense that you could only see a few feet into them. And trees appeared to be the only thing up ahead.

Silence had oozed into the car and settled itself. John quickly glanced back and forth between the road and Sherlock. "How exactly do you know somebody who lives this far out."

"I knew his work. Not his personal life. I've only been here once."

"Who is this colleague?"

Sherlock turned to him, watching him for a few moments as if deciding whether or not to let John in on whatever secret he was keeping, "Vladimir Grimwood, retired pathologist."

Neither of the men spoke after that, both focusing only on the road. It was hours before they came across any sign they were heading in the right direction. John had to make a U-Turn because both men, despite their best, most attentive efforts, had missed the hidden road until they had passed it.

They didn't see any signs that of anyone living in this part of the woods until it was almost time for the sun to come up. Despite his doubts, John found himself hoping that they found the house soon. He was exhausted after driving for hours. What they did come across was shocking.

The structure was a small mansion but it looked rickety and worn. Old style shutters flapped against the siding quietly. The front porch was even missing a few chunks of floorboard. Siding and shingles were missing. It was evident that it had once been a gorgeous house but it was not anymore. John scanned the building cautiously, it strongly resembled a haunted house. The woods around it were foreboding. "Are you sure this is the house?"

"Was. It's obviously not the house anymore."

Sherlock was right. It was abandoned, no one had lived there in years. Which left on question unanswered. Where to find this so called colleague?

"There's another road."

John raised his eye brows, "What?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Road. There." He waved his hand in the direction of another branch of road, hidden by low-hanging branches. He walked back to the car without another glance at the old house and got in.

John followed the detective's lead, climbing into the driver's seat of the SUV. Inserting the keys into the ignition, the engine roared to life but it didn't move. John wrapped his hands around the steering wheel and sighed.

"Are you sure this is even worth it?"

"It's very important."

John watched his flatmate carefully for a moment. He relented quickly, his voice was soft, "Alright, Sherlock."

He turned to vehicle and directed it down the concealed driveway.

XX

The orange light emanating from the sunrise was streaming through the trees, illuminating patches of the road they were still following. And they followed it until the sight ahead of them forced them to park.

They both got out, surveying their surroundings. The only sign of any human residence was the massive wrought iron gates that blocked their way down the hidden road.

"Hi!"

John flinched violently, spinning around he tried to find the source of the high-pitched greeting. When he had turned full circle he saw Sherlock eye him, looking wildly unimpressed before he looked towards top of one of the stone posts that the gate doors was fixed to.

At the top of the post sat a small girl who couldn't have been more than 6 years old. Sherlock stepped back to properly hold her intense gaze as he began to wonder if he was hallucinating. It was a ridiculous thought, he knew that but it was foggy out, poisonous fog like he had encountered in Baskerville came to mind. It wasn't until the little girl's mouth curved up into a board toothy grin that he decided he wasn't.

"Who are you?" Her voice was small, appropriate for such tiny girl but there wasn't a trace of fright in it, just curiosity.

For once in his life, Sherlock Holmes was thrown off by the scene before him. There was no obvious way the tiny child had gotten to the top of the gate that must have been nearly 7 feet tall. But there she sat looking very content with herself.

She was dressed in a long-sleeved cream coloured dress that was a similar shade as her strawberry blonde hair. She had it pulled back into a pony tail and the tips of a bright pink bow were visible over the sides of her head. She hadn't stopped grinning.

He addressed her the same way he would address an adult, "Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson." He wasn't sure how else to address her.

She wasn't shaken, "I'm Tanis!"

Sherlock watched her carefully, "Nice to meet you."

Her smile grew, she threw out a small arm and pointed to the other side of the gate, "And that's Winnie."

Both men's gazes shot to the other side, neither had realized a second child had arrived. Winnie was several years older than Tanis. She brushed her long brown bangs out of her eyes and held them there as she analyzed the two men. "You didn't say why you were here." She sounded suspicious, not as ignorantly friendly as her younger companion.

"We need to speak to Vladimir Grimwood."

The two girls stared at them. Tanis cocked her head slightly, "We can take you to our Headmistress, if you'd like."

John spoke up before Sherlock had time, "Yes, thank you. That would be very nice of you."

Winnie huffed and flopped over to the side of the post and let herself down with ease. She brushed herself off and stood on the opposite side of the gate while examining the complex lock holding the wrought iron gates shut.

Tanis stayed situated on the top of the post, looking almost sheepish, "Mister." She addressed Sherlock politely, "Could you help me?"

"Do what?" He snapped.

She shifted onto her hands and knees and peered over the side of her perch, "I can't get down."

"Well, you should have thought of that be-", A sharp elbow in the ribs cut his sentence short. John's eyes were wide as she nodded his head towards the little girl. Sherlock stared at him with confusion. John gritted his and hissed "pick her up" before turning to Winnie who had jumped down and was working on opening the rusted lock.

He stepped over so he was standing only a few inches away from the post she was sitting on and waited for her to move. She scooted over so her legs were hanging over the side and then she reached both of her arms down to him. With one last wild glance toward John, one that gained him no sympathy, he reached both of his arms up, grabbing her under the arms and picked her up carefully. She was very light but he had no idea what she expected him to do so he put her down as quickly as he could, letting go of her and stepping away like contact might infect him. She watched him curiously.

John locked the car, assuming that they would be leaving it at the gate. He was still confused about the two little girls, where had they come from and why they were so happily letting them into their home. It was almost like the beginning of a bad campfire horror story.

There was a clinking noise and the gates swung open in front of Winnie. She nodded to them and then started up the path towards another dense patch of trees. "Come on, Tanis. We've got to get back."

Tanis grabbed Sherlock's hand, something that made John snicker behind him. He received a deadly glare in return. She was a leaned forward and stepped towards the gates, dragging Sherlock with her. He didn't resist but followed her warily, eventually catching up with her. As he was trying to match his large steps her much smaller ones so as not to jar her, she tilted her head back and grinned widely.

"Thank you, Mister."

Sherlock looked down at her out of the corner of his eye, still not sure what to make of to her extremely trusting nature, "You're welcome, Tanis."

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**The first encounter with the inhabitants of Grimwood. And n****obody can resist Tanis. Even is their reaction is mostly panicking because they don't know what to do with her.**

**I hope it's enjoyable or at least worth your time. Thanks!**

**- Katey**


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